First Watch
by Saoirse the Irish Colleen
Summary: According to legend, the Grand Light and Grand Dark Warriors will meet on the bridge for the final battle for world salvation. But for Nadezhda and Yegor, the war has just begun. Night Watch Russian film.
1. Chapter I: Nadezhda

**A/N: **Why did I write this fic? Because I've been a shameless Russophile since age 13 and it all began with those pretty Russian figure skaters. I'm taking this from both _Nochnoi Dozor_ movieverse and book (from the little I know since _ND_ has YET to be published here).

**Disclaimer: **The last thing I would be is a Russian psychologist turned SF/fantasy author named Sergei Lukyanenko.

**First Watch **

**By Saoirse the Irish Colleen**

_And so it came to pass. The Great Other came into the world, and chose the side of evil. Legend says, evil plunged the world into darkness, but so long there are those among us who believe in light there will be hope._

_Chapter I: Nadezhda_

**Moscow, 2016**

_It_ was fermenting the way potatoes and rye should when vodka wasn't being cut with gasoline during distillation. Semyon stood outside the truck and sniffed the air again, its tentative odor mingled with the feeding and lusty insects humming in the Gloom.

_Hard to trace._

He dropped his cigarette and crushed it beneath his sneaker's scuffed rubber sole.

"Syoma!" The short balding man turned and saw Katya- Tiger Cub while on duty- standing in the passenger side doorway. "Vashli!" The highlighted blonde shapeshifter slammed the door behind her with a loud thud. Semyon followed suit and soon their third companion, Bear, a bulky man with a mess of glossy black curls and a scruffy beard was squished between them. Semyon started the truck's ignition. He buckled up and grunted from the taut canvas seatbelt painfully.

"Gotta drop some pounds," he grunted. Irked, Bear shook his head. The son of a bitch would be stuffing his face with jam-filled blinis when they got back to HQ. Wild blue fire burst with a jet engine's roar from the double exhaust pipes and they sped away.

A red pen dislodged itself from between the Venetian blinds and a grey aluminum blade dropped back into place. Did they honestly think people wouldn't notice? The conspicuous yellow and red truck from the Gorsvyet Light Company had been around the school five times in the last two weeks. That's more than any other service truck has been around the city under the pretense of tinkering underground for repairs from any of the corrupt power companies since the second revolution. She rubbed her bare arms fighting off the chill despite the 80-odd degree pre-summer heat. Things hadn't changed much in Moscow since she was twelve, and soon to be 24-year-old Nadezhda Lazarova, teacher at Moscow's Elementary School No. 3 and prolific skeptic was suspicious of whatever was ripening in the air was going to prevent her from seeing her birthday in three months. But she had always known she was _different _from others since childhood. But she would have been only too happy and willing to ignore it if things hadn't been shot to hell 12 years ago.

Slumping behind her desk she uncapped her pen and returned to test grading… that is if Liliya would cut her damned radio off. But she had been obsessing over some pop idol that leeched off the tweens to twenties crowd. The first time Nadezhda seen the bitch shaking her wide load ass in a glittering sheer green tank dress and black thong was when Liliya dragged her to a concert. The vibes the old bitch was projecting was enough to make Nadezhda want to hurl daggers at her and pitch her bloodied corpse to the carrion crows. And the placid teacher never considered herself to be a violent person… 90 percent of the time.

At the moment however, the bitch was shrieking some old-school Madonna track in Russian with only the chorus untranslated.

_I've always been in love with you_

_I guess you've always known it's true_

_You took my love for granted_

_Why, oh why?_

_The show is over, say goodbye_

Heaving an impatient breath Nadezhda caved in. She banged the thick sheaf of test papers on the desk before storing them into her father's old brown leather briefcase for something to do over dinner. She undid the chignon letting loose her fox fur-colored hair to spill down her back in thick, ropy curls. Her tan pumps made soft clicks on the hardwood floor and she stopped short in the doorway to look at a pair of desks side by side in the fourth and fifth rows, respectively, nearest to the open door. Nadezhda saw the apparitions of a boy and girl some dozen years earlier laughing over some hand-held game console the girl held before racing out at the conclusion of classes. Strange that a boy and girl should be joined at the hip sharing every joy and tear. Strange that she would be the only one to think it strange.

_Baba Dunya?_ Nadezhda's 12-year-old self asked her grandmother, the pleasantly plum woman with a vibrant red-dyed bob had her back to her beloved grandchild puttering around the kitchen.

_Yes, Nadya?_

_Do you think it's weird that my best friend is a boy?_ The bouncy elderly lady continued to hum an unknown song native to her unnamed village.

_No it is not._ Nadezhda swung her coltish legs sitting atop the tall kitchen stool and continued to ponder her situation with the same keen processes that she used to dissect equations that her teachers were astounded by.

_It's not like I don't like the girls I'm friends with, it's just that I'm more comfortable with him._

"_And love still lives... in my wounded heart..." Don't worry about it so much, Nadya dear._

_Why do you always sing that song, Baba?_

_In my village, this is the sound imprinted on our souls._

_Is it in my soul, even though I was born the city? _Her grandmother turned off the faucet and shook the excess water from the tomatoes in the sieve she washed.

_It is. As for you and your friend… it is your common fate to be so close._

Common fate? What the hell did that mean anyway? Russians were often portrayed as being overdramatic and superstitious by the overzealous American media who only bothered to care when there was exciting dogfights in the unresolved Chechen conflict to tape. But as of late she had been stepping outside herself to observe her environment from an ethnocentric perspective to something… less humane. And Nadezhda decided that ultimately she didn't understand what the hell anyone was talking about anymore. She rapped her knuckles on the boy's desk before exiting her classroom and wondered if it was his fate to vanish as he had _that _night.

"Lilya," Nadezhda knocked on her friend's classroom door and she hit the pause button on the CD boom box, temporarily silencing the offending song. "I'm taking off now."

"Okay, I'll see you." Nadezhda didn't get two steps away before she was called back. "Ah! Nadya!" Nadezhda clutched her hand to the doorframe and tilted her upper body backward.

"What?"

Liliya pointed at Nadezhda with a pen. "Don't forget the party at my parents' dacha this weekend." Nadezhda waved a dismissing hand.

"Yes… yes…"

"I'm _picking you up_… unlike the last time…" She warned.

"I won't forget."

"See you in the morning, then." Nadezhda nodded and fleet footed for the door to the stairwell. When she was two floors down Nadezhda blew off an incensed sigh, she loved Liliya, but she hated her friend constantly playing matchmaker. Every prospective Romeo turned out to either be a jerk or liar… of course she hadn't told Liliya she had used what she loosely described as 'gifts' to scan their aura and promptly shut them down within the first hour of their introduction. All she did really was sense out their intentions through their body heat and humans released inordinate amounts of heat, and nearly everything in the world could conduct heat which would lead to extraordinary results depending on Nadezhda's mood. But she was human in the end and she found alternatives to relieving her stress without harming innocents.

Nadezhda flipped open her metallic blue Motorola _Razr _to check her voicemail, and was alarmed to find a message from the doctor treating her grandmother who was in the hospital awaiting her hip replacement surgery. She speedialed the hospital and patiently waited for someone to pick up, all the while her heart ready to shatter through her ribs.

"Hello? Yes, I'd like to speak to Dr. Avyeri Plekhanov, please. It's in regards to Mrs. Yevdokiya Lazarova… I'm her granddaughter Nadezhda Lazarova... thank you." Another five hear-wrenching minutes crawled by until she heard his tired voice.

'Dr. Plekhanov speaking.'

'Doctor, this is Nadezhda Lazarova. I just checked my voicemail and heard your message. I apologize for not reaching you earlier, but as a rule I turn off my phone at work."

'I understand. I just wanted to tell you that I've had to reschedule your grandmother's surgery.' Nadezhda silently took a sharp breath; both of her hands throttled the phone so that the thin plastic shell creaked from the pressure.

"Is… is there something wrong?"

'No, no nothing like that,' Plekhanov allayed her fears. 'We were all ready to go this morning in the operating theatre when I saw the ball-jointed artificial hip was defected.' Laying a hand on her chest, Nadezhda exhaled thanking every god she knew for the doctor's blessed eyesight. 'The metal had not been bonded properly from the manufacturers so it will take another week for a replacement to come in.'

"Thank you doctor."

'Miss Lazarova, don't thank me yet. You are aware of the complications that can arise in this surgery- in any surgery- because of your grandmother's advanced age and overall health condition.'

"I am aware, but I will still thank you doctor… goodbye." Nadezhda clapped the phone shut and dropped it into her briefcase. Her grandmother would be another week in the hospital… perhaps longer Plekhanov said after the EMTs brought her in. For now though she had to visit her for her peace of mind.

Nadezhda waited at the curb before the school for the light to change opting to take the bus instead of the Metro. It would be a longer commute to the hospital, but she just didn't feel up to climbing the steps. What Nadezhda did not see was a man dressed in a black leather duster, black jeans and a pullover hat oblivious and unaffected by the brutal sun leaning against the traffic light pole behind her. Zavulon laid a Black Russian fitted in a plastic cigarette holder on his lower lip hawkishly studying Nadezhda's legs as she crossed the street swaying her double-tiered, flared rust-colored skirt. His eyes smiled beneath his white lashes grateful that she decided to leave the blazer in the hall closet and showed off such a pretty off-white silk tank top. Alas, moments as perfect as that were destined to be short-lived as the silver _Jaguar_ skidded to a halt before him.

Pop idol Alyssa Donnikova, Dark Other Witch, coyly laid her chin atop her hands on the window. "Good afternoon." Clenching the Black Russian between his teeth, Zavulon flicked his lighter and lit the cancer stick from a green flame pumping from the wick. Exhaling carcinogen he watched from the corner of his eye Nadezhda mount the steps of the bus fully aware that Alyssa watched him from the driver's side mirror. Her narrow eyebrows quirked as she inwardly laughed at that _child_. She excused Zavulon's roving eye since she really wasn't in love with the bastard anyway, but why did he bother with the human women so much?

"What has my wonderful son been up to this fine day?" Zavulon slid himself alongside of Alyssa who started the engine.

"His rounds," she shrugged. "Why don't you call him?"

"Maybe later."

The sleek black Aston Martin _Volante _pulled up to the curb in front of the market, the sun striking a white gleam in a perfect straight line down the side like a racing stripe decal. The driver wasn't in the least concerned with theft should a potential thief lay a finger on it the curse that was put in place would sever his limbs and head. The _Volante _owner entered the market unhurriedly taking confident, long strides. He could have been anyone and few human patrons glanced at him, as was his intentions and he was ashamed at some of his fellow Dark Others who were flamboyant, or just plain uncivilized. He wore jeans, boots a plain black T-shirt that clung to all the right places on his muscled torso and an unzipped black leather jacket. His translucent blue eyes scanned the busy bazaar quickly falling on the stall he was searching for.

The butcher wrapped cuts of veal meticulously in brown paper before tying them with crude string and handing them to his female patron.

"Thank you," she said loading it into her shopping cart.

"Enjoy." The butcher said and the woman with her 15-year-old son who was pushing the cart ambled away. The butcher clapped his bloodstained hands together and rolled his shoulders then cracked his neck a few times.

"Think lunch is in order," he said softly to himself but when he spun around he saw the _Volante_ driver standing proudly on the other side of the cracked dull light blue tiled ledge.

"Afternoon," the blue-eyed man greeted him nicely. "Am I late?" The butcher stood erect and for a moment he felt bereft of words.

"Not at all." The butcher looked down at his bloodied hands and raised them slightly.

"Take your time. Go ahead." The visitor said. The butcher thanked him with a nod of his head and turned to the sink behind him. The High Vampire allowed his hands to tremble under the hot tap whilst his visitor had his back turned. After eons the High Vampire knew how to play Zavulon, and there was not much that could truly incite his wrath. Conversely, his spoiled little prince ensured that every Other regardless of station or side in the war walked on eggshells around him. The prince was accommodating and infinitely patient, which perfectly complimented his utter ruthlessness that made him so terrifying. The vampire twisted off the tap and dried his hands on his apron.

"Okay." The vampire announced.

"Mm-hmm." The prince nodded and allowed the vampire to lead the way. They walked the short corridors, open doors to the rear delivery yard and parking lot allowed air to travel for ventilation because of the heat. The prince ran his hands through his hair trying to remember when it had gotten so dark and wavy, but now that it was growing out it was getting curly. He _had_ to get a haircut. The first thing he heard was Fedya's annoying bray chattering without a care on his phone, and most likely with a woman. The International Congress of Others called for the Nochnoi Dozor and Dnevnoy Dozor to upgrade their communications technology when suited and both Night Watch and Day Watch now used the _Nokia 6235i _specifically for the VGA video camera and Net access. And it was on his purple shelled _Nokia _Fedya was prattling on dressed in a loud deep purple crushed velvet tracksuit and green tinted _Ray Bans_ did he meekly bid his admirer adieu and shut off the phone. The butcher/High Vampire's son Kostya rolled his eyes swinging a red metal thermos in one hand. He was dressed in torn white jeans and an untucked royal blue short sleeved shirt with a pair of silver chains around his neck. The longer chain had a clear crystal dangling from it. His _Tommy Hilfiger _shades hung from his collar.

The prince lifted his eyebrows at Kostya who opened the meat locker door that he and Fedya flanked. The prince entered with the other three in tow, he stared down an unconscious man in torn clothes chained to a pipe on the wall with a string of crystals around his neck. The prince snapped his fingers.

"Get him up please." He told Fedya anxious to get back in his good books. Fedya walked over and squatted near the inert body of the man on the floor.

"Yo! Wakey! Wakey!" Fedya smacked the man a few times tossing his head from side to side. The bedraggled man came to slowly and saw the room he was in a smear of gray from the concrete and red for the hanging, frozen meat separate and solidify until his muddy brain at last registered where he was and who was sitting on the metal table along the wall.

"_YEGOR!"_ The man scooted as far back into the wall as it was allowed colliding with a frosted-over bucket. Kostya watched it roll into a cobweb cluttered corner.

"Hello Roman."

"Please, Yegor… I beg of you," Roman beseeched, "it's not what you think!" Yegor blinked owlishly at the trussed man.

"'Not what you think'?" Yegor repeated without sarcasm and Roman's terror just kicked up about a dozen notches as he observed Yegor's features. He looked as though he was ready to smile. Yegor _never_ raised his voice, there was no logic behind getting angry, it was just counterproductive. But you sure as shit better believe that whatever punishment Yegor devised fit the crime, because he followed the letter of the law when it came to reprimanding his kind.

"Roma I like you," Yegor sighed. "I've known you for so long and you've taught me so much… I- I'm really not comfortable doing this," Yegor shook his head pacing the locker. Roman held his tongue not buying a single word of what he said. "But you can imagine my shock… my disappointment… when a pair of Night Watch appears on my doorstep waving a warrant in my face saying they're going to arrest you."

"Yegor, please listen…"

"My compliments to Gesser for his dexterity and the fact that he _didn't _revert to entrapment." Roman was silenced and he pulled in his bloodless lips over his teeth. Yegor snapped his fingers at Kostya who withdrew a black _iPod Video _from his pocket and handed it to Yegor. He tapped the keypad scrolling down for a file and clicked it upon reaching it. It was a _Podcast _video download from the news channel's official website from the previous night. Yegor squatted before Roman and allowed him to view the clip.

_Late breaking story, the remains of two bodies identified as 26-year-old Olesya Vasiliyeva and 27-year-old Vadim Bykovsky were discovered in Gorky Park. The couple was last seen by coworkers leaving an office party together several hours before their brutally mutilated corpses were found hidden by refuse collection bins. A Moscow_ _Militia spokesperson released this statement: "The perpetrator of this crime is a sick and depraved individual that will be punished to the fullest extent of the law. In my 30 years of service to the state, I have never witnessed such an act of inhumanity in all of my experience in homicide cases." _

_Police described the conditions the couple were found in consistent with a wild canine attack. Speculation over security in the Moscow Zoo regarding their newest exhibition of Siberian Tundra wolves was refuted by the zoo's director, zoologist Dr. Kirill Kudratsev quoting: "People have as much to fear from the tropical birds as these wolves. We have exhausted ourselves investing in the finest safety units with the viewing public's security foremost in mind that is also attractive and appropriate for animals in captivity."_

Yegor cut off the _iPod_ and tossed it back to Kostya without looking over his shoulder. Save for the drone of the cooling units it was silent in the meat locker. Roman did not want to meet eyes with Yegor now that he was cornered.

"I commend you on your absolute clumsiness attempting to cover your ass. Because if it had been entrapment, the Nochnoi Dozor would've been all over your ass like flies on dog shit before you could've started snacking on that woman's thigh." Yegor didn't hear Fedya's ringtone go off nor see him discreetly exit the meat locker. "I can empathize with you wanting to avoid the bureaucratic bullshit of having to go to Gesser's assholes to apply for a hunting license." Before Roman could nod he found his air supply thinning quickly. Yegor had lightning quick reflexes that were even more bone-chilling in action only in the Gloom; Yegor pulled taut his fingers around Roman's throat. "You know Roma, I'm glad you refrained from saying anything." Yegor pushed his face into Roman's. "Because you know I hate lies," he deadpanned. "I hate lies more than murder. There's something… so _wrong_ about twisting the psychological dagger in someone's back as you kiss them." Yegor slowly lifted his chin to press his lips briefly to Roman's forehead.

Roman's jaw dropped just then to emit powerful wails as he felt cold steel simultaneously rip into his appendages. Through blurred, tearing eyes he made out Yegor standing to his full height, nearly six feet, wiping clean a dagger with a worn out grey terrycloth rag, refreshing the old bloodstains with new.

"And just in case if you couldn't tell Roma, I did not stab you in the back." He returned the rag back to the butcher who tucked it into his apron pocket. As Yegor resheathed the dagger, Kostya saw the Greek lettering etched into the eight-inch steel and filled with silver. The string of crystals activated from the profusely bleeding wounds in his arms, legs and hands. Slowly Roman lowered himself down on his back, his hazel irises dilated as his pupils contracted to pinpoints. His mouth pulled open in a silent scream. Kostya winced now knowing that Yegor perfected that little illusion curse. For an undisclosed amount of time Roman would suffer the agony of simulated Lunacy in the Gloom. If he ever came out of it, no doubt he would think that the insects had chewed away his flesh. Kostya actually felt for the asshole. Is all that worth eating a couple of humans? Obviously Yegor struck a deal with his old man to spare the Werewolf piece of shit's life unlike the last mage he slowly tortured to death in the Necropolis and left their flesh and blood bust on display. Now that was creative, but disturbing nonetheless. Gesser had to have opened his fat mouth.

Feeling pleased with himself Yegor tucked the dagger into a concealed pocket in his jacket when he paused, his smile dropping. The meat locker door creaked open and Fedya stuck his head in.

"Yegor."

"What?"

Fedya held out his phone. "It's your father."

"Fuck," he breathed in English. Yegor took his purple cell and walked out of the locker with Kostya and his father in tow. "Wait outside for me please," he instructed Fedya and Kostya. The butcher unobtrusively returned to his stall. "And Fedya…" Yegor called after the man in the ridiculous tracksuit.

"Y- yes?" He faltered.

Yegor put his phone up to his ear. "Touch my car and I will cut out your liver and make sure Kostya's father sells it for a fair price." Kostya shrugged at Fedya as the incident with the white _BMW _Yegor owned previously to the _Volante_ was forgiven, but not forgotten.

"Yes." The three split in opposite directions. Yegor went out into the delivery yard, squinting against the white sunlight beating down on him. "What is it?"

'No "How are you"? No "Hello"?' Zavulon asked.

"My apologies, Father. How are you? Now what is it?" Over the sound effects of the _Playstation 9 _he heard Alyssa's chortle. He wished his father would knock it off with the speakerphone conversations.

'Well?'

"Situation has been resolved."

'Is Roman alive?' Yegor took a deep breath and made a quick mental calculation.

"As such, yes."

'How long then?' Zavulon lit another Black Russian.

"Seventy-two hours… give or take." Zavulon grunted in the positive.

'Your birthday is at the end of next month,' Zavulon pointed out.

'Terribly exciting for all.' Alyssa commented and Yegor frowned.

'Is there anything you would like or like to do in particular, beforehand?' Zavulon asked.

"I already bought a new car," Yegor scratched the back of his neck. "So I'm not particularly picky." The Black Russian in Zavulon's teeth angled upwards as flashes of Nadezhda walking down the steps of the school flashed in his mind.

'Something special then.'

Yegor shrugged. "Fine with me."

'We're all meeting at the dacha this weekend. I trust you'll be there.'

"I'll drop by." Yegor replied noncommittally. Zavulon reset the game, switched stages and changed characters. The object of this new game was the hero had to reach the secret chamber to rescue the sleeping princess in a glass coffin before the villain could beat him to it and kills her.

'Now be good and play nice.' Zavulon broke the connection. Yegor pinched his sinus cluster. He honestly believed that his father wanted to humiliate him to death. Did Zavulon have any idea what it was like for Yegor to carry on a conversation with him from behind a paper-thin door whilst having been forced to hear Alyssa's high-pitched squeals and moans? She was better with her vocals during sex than a concert. Just before Yegor was ready to turn back his own phone rang. He drew his black _Nokia_ from his left pocket and checked the number before answering it.

"Da?"

'Yegor?' Asked the woman on the other line.

"Polya?"

'Yeah. You busy right now?'

"Not anymore. What's up?"

'I managed to get a lead into whatever's keeping Zavulon up these past few nights- and it has nothing to do with the old hag."

"You at the club?" Yegor checked his gold _Rolex_ for the time.

'Uh-huh.' Yegor started his way back into the market.

"I'll be right there."

'Bring that book of yours,' she interjected before he could hang up. 'Whatever your father has to cover his tracks online, it's hard to trace even with my home-brewed system.'

"One hour then." He hung up and pocketed his phone. Kostya and Fedya patiently waited by Fedya's red _Mercedes_ that was pulled up behind Yegor's _Volante_.

"Where to now?" Kostya asked.

"The club."

"Right." Fedya got behind the wheel and started the engine. Kostya drained the metal cup from the thermos he drank from.

"I'll meet you in an hour." Yegor got behind the wheel when Kostya stopped him.

"You look pale. You eat?" Yegor nodded too quickly. "Swig?" Kostya held up the thermos.

"What the hell." Kostya nodded and refilled the metal cup then handed it to Yegor. He took long, easy gulps of the warm and thick red substance and sighed, his thirst slaked. Yegor stroked the flat of his tongue against his palate determining the aftertaste. "Venison?"

Kostya screwed the cup back onto the thermos. "Mm-hmm. Female too, that's why it ain't rancid." Yegor revved the engine.

"Females never are. See you in an hour." Kostya mocked saluted him and Yegor took off.


	2. Chapter II: Yegor

_Chapter II: Yegor_

**12 Hours Earlier**

The doorbell rang incessantly. On the fifteenth floor of a Soviet-era prefabricated building whose balcony was once the only good thing about it, Yegor reluctantly got up from bed. He looked at the time and scowled. Had they no respect for people's sleep? Groping for the lamp he switched it on and found his house slippers before sidling out. His modest studio was furnished simply, but the bulk of the rooms were occupied by stacks of books, the majority of which were dogeared and falling out of their bindings. Not to say that Yegor didn't enjoy television, piles of DVDs sat on the floor below his wall-mounted flat screen TV, he abhorred video games. But ultimately he felt that aside from the news and hockey and soccer games, the remote was a crack pipe. Then again humanity deserved whatever a taste of their own medicine for being so stupid. A few sheets of paper wafted down from the towers of books surrounding his PC on the desk he shuffled past and he checked the peephole for the identity of his interloper.

On the opposite side stood Semyon and Katya. Yegor softly snorted and opened the door.

"Can I help you?" His voice was rough from sleep and his shocking blue eyes drowsy and squinting in the yellow lamplight.

Semyon thrust a folded document in his face. "We have a warrant for the arrest of Roman, one of your wolves."

"Tell Gesser his entrapment games are hilarious," Yegor was shutting the door when Katya's voice halted him.

"If it was entrapment, why would we have gone through the tedium of procedure and notified you first?" It was her dead casualness that stopped Yegor and the sneaking suspicion that she was telling the truth.

"You'd better log on," Semyon said.

"Wait there, please." Wide awake and jogging towards his desk, Yegor booted up his PC and connected immediately. He hit up the _Yahoo!_ Russian site and checked the local news, and sure enough the report of a gruesome double homicide suspected to be a wild dog attack was posted. Yegor lowered himself gently to his leather swivel seat tapping his fingers to his lips. Semyon set the warrant atop a stack of books.

"You'd better notify Zavulon if you want to rectify this situation." Yegor said nothing in return and watched as the two Night Watch operatives leave his apartment. Katya smirked, thankful that Bear chose to keep the engine running downstairs. After all, Yegor was a man now and wearing a black tank top over thin pajama trousers. He filled out nicely from weight training. From under golden-brown lashes, Yegor glared at Katya who flirtatiously wiggled her fingers at him before closing the door. It wasn't that he didn't think her attractive, or he was too preoccupied for women, when it came down to it a Night Watch was a Night Watch. Reaching for his cell on the glass-topped desk, Yegor pulled up the phonebook and speedialed Fedya's number.

"You up?" Yegor asked.

'I just heard,' Fedya said. There was movement of bed sheets and the clatter of beer bottles in the background.

"Get Kostya and find Roman before the Nochnoi Dozor does."

'Where should we put him?' Yegor was shuffling papers and books around searching his desk.

"Kostya will know where, right now I have to-" Yegor's shocking blue eyes brightened spotting his find under a folded edition of the _Pravda_. "Get to my father." Yegor opened the black box and nestled in the velvet lining was a tapered platinum ring with a stunning red crystal in the setting. Sliding it on his left ring finger he there was a sense of accomplishment he felt each time he put the ring on since he first found the crystal 12 years ago.

_Anya was giving good chase, but a good defenseman doesn't pass directly to the striker since the opposing team's forward was coming up on him to deflect and steal the ball. Yegor passed the ball to Klara, his team's forward, picking up the slack going full-steam, who tapped it to Vadim the striker coming up on the box setting up for the blast, when- oh shit- he shot too high and all they could do was watch as it sailed over the crossbar. _

"_Where'd the ball go?"_

"_Those trees back there!"_

"_I'll get it," Yegor volunteered, and he dashed into the thicket. Crashing through the underbrush he spotted the soccer ball, unfortunately his foot got caught on an exposed root and fell through the shrubs into a hidden ravine. He rolled into the shallow gully, rocks and debris spraying in every direction, dirt smudged his face and got in his eyes despite the fact he had his body tucked around the ball, his head tucked down low enough for his chin to touch his chest. _

_Yegor lay there like a dead rabbit in a meadow for an undetermined period of time gathering his bearings. He blinked and was rising up on his elbows slowly hoping he didn't break anything, when he saw the twinkle in the corner of his eye. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but unmistakably the color was red and there was little sunlight left. The red winked once more, beckoning Yegor and he unsteadily got to his feet like a newborn colt and stumbled to a rock pile where the glimmer was shining through. In a stone that he was barely able to curl his fingers over he saw a red crystal peeking through the cracks. It looked as though his fall managed to chip off some of the rock it formed from._

"_Hey! Yegor! You okay!"_

"_Yeah!" He called back. "I found the ball!" He dropped it into his deep jacket pocket and climbed out of the ravine. It was late and the game broke up, ending in no score. It didn't affect Yegor in the least, since he couldn't wait to show Nadezhda if all worked out. _

_He laid down old newspapers and magazines so he could avoid doing damage to his mother's kitchen table. She kept the hammer under the sink with the cleaning supplies, but in truth Yegor wasn't completely sure as to what he was doing. He placed the rock in the center of the table and lifted the hammer. Yegor only had one shot and if he was off a fraction of a centimeter he could shatter the stone and crystal completely. Yegor closed his eyes and brought down the hammer… he didn't hear the crash and when he opened his eyes the black and gray bits of rock left a dark halo from the impact around the red rock crystal._

"_Cool," Yegor held it before the lamplight rotating it in his hand, the hazy light penetrated through the coarse facets. He never did show Nadezhda as he did with everything else since she didn't meet him at his swim team practice which was strange to say the least. But after that night, nothing was normal ever again. Only later on did Zavulon inform him about the importance of his discovery and yes, it was fate for him to find the red crystal. Zavulon had his crafts-mages fashion a ring for him that would adapt to the changes of Yegor's body as he grew. Red crystals were commonly used by Dark Others to either camouflage themselves from the Light Others' satellites or use in conjunction with their abilities._

Yegor was dressed and out the door in record time and on his way to discuss a course of action with his father, which was a feat in itself.

Sirens blared and lights flashed so brightly it caused the pianist to stop. Women crowded around the windows to catch a glimpse of the action from the dance studio. Sadly, the squad cars, ambulance and fie truck all vanished into the thinning late night traffic. The thoroughly pissed dance instructor clapped her hands to get her students' attention.

"Girls! Girls!" Rozaliya Kulikova in her heyday was a prima donna on the Bolshoi circuit, today she has lived up to her nickname as 'Iron Lady' as the principal instructor of her dance school that catered to the market of children to adults. The 5'2" woman with steel gray eyes and silver bun took control of the room once more drilling the women on the primary positions. "Do not forget where you are!"

The pianist began at the top and the 12 women at the barre winding around the mirrored room kicked, tapped their toes and bounced to the twinkling melody. Nadezhda was hardly Vaganova School material, but it was something she enjoyed since childhood and it gave her something to do three nights a week. She switched her body to autopilot and Nadezhda focused on the mirror, not on her expression but what was around her neck. After she came home one afternoon earlier in the month one of her neighbors informed her about her grandmother's accident on the stairs which led to the hip fracture. The elevator had been out of service again and the old woman decided to go grocery shopping regardless of it. Her neighbor's son found the shopping cart on the steps above the landing where she fell. Nadezhda was prompted to put on the green crystal that drunken monk gave her when they first visited him. She missed meeting Yegor at the swimming pool, she had no idea she would never see him again after that. But truthfully she didn't give Yegor a second thought for a full week; she had no idea that the odd blackout and the violent storm that night would have far more dangerous repercussions. Yet somehow, Nadezhda knew that Yegor's disappearance was connected to those events.

"_Baba Dunya?_ _What are you doing here?" The elderly woman stood in one of her black floral print summer dresses waiting for her granddaughter outside of her school. Nadezhda was acclimated to taking the Metro on her own. Both of her parents worked for Moscow_'_s leading energy company and often traveled. They left for Canada_ _the previous week missing her birthday, but Nadezhda's mother moved her party up a week earlier. Yegor gave her a pair of earrings, gold butterfly studs. Nadezhda made sure to inform him of her recent ear piercings since he was unsure as to what to give her, his mother Irina was much better at that sort of thing._

"_We are going to the market, little one." Yevdokiya said strapping her leather handbag over her elbow. _

"_You know Papa doesn't like it when you walk around on hot days." Nadezhda reminded her as they linked hands._

"_Then this is our secret."_

"_You know Mama doesn't like secrets," the girl sang._

"_She will forgive us… she will." Nadezhda dutifully followed her grandmother down into the Metro. Nadezhda shrugged, reasoning that she made perfect sense. Babushkas really did know everything. _

_The market was alive with the throngs of midday_ _shoppers, but Yevdokiya Lazarova was not in the least concerned with the pedestrian traffic in the wide aisles. She respectfully nodded a greeting to the butcher, who returned it, and Nadezhda felt an odd compulsion to do so as well and the man in the bandanna acknowledged it before tending to approaching patrons._

_Yevdokiya approached the stall directly across from the butcher, the produce man who piled vegetables and fruits glossy with the recent spraying from a hose. He wore a black cap jauntily pulled to the side and a damp apron over his dark brown corduroys and short-sleeved white dress shirt. What mesmerized Nadezhda was the cat's eye stone thick gold pinky ring he wore, the thing winked at her, she knew it did!_

"_Ahhh, my esteemed neighbor Olegovna," the produce man said piling lemons and oranges in pyramids. "I feel I must have a turn of fortune coming now that I've seen your face."_

"_Still in business Maksimovich?" Yevdokiya tutted, though outwardly pleased by the flattery. "It's an accomplishment for you." The man let loose and rough, rich laugh at her barb. _

"_One day at a time." Nadezhda flinched at the whole exchange. To refer to someone by their middle name in Russia_ _suggested a degree of intimacy. Just how well did Baba Dunya know this guy? "It seems our little Nadya is slightly confused." And he knew her as well? Nadezhda looked to her grandmother but held her tongue. "In our village little one," Maksimovich clarified, "everyone is referred to by their middle name. That's how well we take care of each other."_

"_That's why she's here to learn." Nadezhda got her first look at Maksimovich's eyes as he shared a meaningful look with her grandmother. There was an electrical current snapping behind those mismatched eyes, his right the darkest blue and his left a green-gray. _

_He glanced at the butcher who was busy with oxtails. "Then let's not dawdle." Nadezhda looked back at the butcher and wondered what their connection was because it seemed that they had none._

_She learned Maksimovich's full name on the drive to their unsaid destination, Svyatoslav Maksimovich Varley, and that he drove a Zhiguli. It was a Georgian vehicle that saw its time in the former Soviet Union; however this mattered little to Varley. The once pristine white exterior dulled to a bleak gray from weathering and was peppered with bright ochre rust marks, oxidized through-and-through. Nadezhda fell asleep during that particularly long drive, but was jostled awake from the instability of the car's parking procedures. Her grandmother and Varley got out of the car and Nadezhda hesitated as she took in her surroundings, for all she knew she could have been in Alma-Ata. They were far outside of the city, she could make out the tops of apartment blocks, and there was a cemetery not far from where the Zhiguli pulled up on the highway. Russian cemeteries tended to stretch out and blend into the forests, paying homage to their ancient pagan Slavic-Nord heritage. In a field adjacent of the graveyard was a church surrounded by a sunken-in wrought iron gate. The building looked to be slated for demolition from the first revolution. The tri-onion domed structure was compromised and stood obliquely in the overgrown grass and dirt. The doors and front windows were boarded up, but her grandmother pulled her in the direction of the rectory at the rear of the church. _

_The yard was strewn with illegally dumped garbage, litter that flew in from the highway and even rusted car parts. The only entrance that was not boarded up was a narrow dome-shaped doorway that had narrow double doors, an eight-pointed Orthodox cross nailed on each. Varley gestured to Yevdokiya that he would enter first for safety precautions and she allowed it, Nadezhda charily watched as the man easily opened one of the doors and walked in. A few minutes went by and Nadezhda heard the scraping of chair legs, the crash of something metal and then silence. Varley stuck his head out just then._

"_You can come in now."_

_From a yellow ceiling lamp with a halo of moths floating around it, Nadezhda and her grandmother stepped into the building. The air was stale and musty, the only other light besides the lamp were fat and skinny beeswax candles traditionally used for worship. There was no incense burning, and this was the first time Nadezhda visited a church. Her parents were not religious, but her grandmother kept an icon and a little shrine with her grandfather's photo she prayed before. Vodka and beer bottles were scattered around and the only furnishings were a table, three chairs and a cot against the far wall behind them. The sheets were in a disarray and unwashed. The elephant stomping of boots on moldy wood accompanied by hacking coughs pierced the hazy silence. A door opened to what was from the front of the church and a rotund man garbed in dusty black priests robes shuffled in. His balding head and beard were light brown streaked with white; his face was bloated and red from years of alcohol abuse. The holy man had a poor gait as he swayed from side to side; he collapsed into one of the chairs and hefted a small brown chest onto his lap._

"_Starets," Varley began, "this is-"_

"_Nadezhda Rodionovna Lazarova." Nadezhda seemed to be the only one surprised by his statement. She made a face as she watched the priest continue to dig through the box. What kind of 'starets' was he? Only the wisest of men can be such powerful mystics in the church, at least that was what the old biddies her grandmother hung out with said. This guy was a fall down drunk, only contented to sift through a box of junk whilst hung over, she could imagine what he was getting in exchange for this impromptu gathering. Curiosity getting the best of her, Nadezhda wandered about the rectory, she was careful to tread for rats and insects scurrying about in the dark borders where the light could not reach._

"_I take it she has been baptized?" The Starets asked._

"_Yes," her grandmother confirmed. Whatever was spoken afterward it went over Nadezhda's head, it sounded muffled even as though her ears were filled with water. On a stumpy cabinet stood a coffer with a lid that rose up and joined in a triangular shape. On the point was a gold Orthodox cross. She squinted in the darkness the coffer was white and gilt at the edges, she could see icon scenes depicted all round. Nadezhda recognized the largest of them at the front of the box, St. George on his white steed brandishing his spear and sun shield triumphant over the dragon. It niggled her that perhaps it wasn't true at all. Her small hands lifted the lid and set it to the side, reaching into the coffer she felt arches of cold metal, trailing her fingers upwards she discovered the knots and twists of what felt like leaves spanning the top where the arches met. Nadezhda poked around and her fingertips connected with stiff velvet. She screwed her fingers around something spherical and atop that was something broad shaped like a cross. Clasping her hands firmly about its round base, Nadezhda picked the object up and was most startled to discover that it was a crown. Peering back inside the coffer she saw its twin resting there._

_Fashioned from gold and encrusted with rock crystals, there was a little oval icon of the Blessed Virgin on the front surrounded by white crystals. A flawless clear crystal shaped the cross at the top. Nadezhda had no idea what it was used for, but she liked the way the fat green crystals sparkled as she brought the crown closer to her face. A flutter at the pit of her stomach told her it was indeed special. The gold crown was heavy and looked big for her head; she put it down and went for the other one. At first look it was identical to its mate; upon closer inspection it bore the icon of Christ. It also appeared to be shaped for a man's head, the gold band wider and the arches forged prominently upward instead of outward. Nadezhda delicately replaced it in the coffer and took up the woman's crown once more. She quickly glanced at the trio now bowed over the rickety table bickering over something with their backs to her, inattentive as to what she was doing. Nadezhda was uncertain as to what she was doing was sinful, but something urged her on. Lifting the crown high she was slowly about to rest it on her head when she heard the faint chanting of a chorus._

_The voices grew louder; she could smell the incense wafting from a censor and candles glared from burning everywhere. There was no musical accompaniment, only the voices of the chorale that sang joyful hymns of this auspicious occasion. Nadezhda felt the taut, heavy gold of the crown fit perfectly around her head since she was not as she was. The Starets was dressed in gold robes and wore a black miter, a long jeweled cross swung from his neck. His face was flushed a healthy pink and his eyes clear as he chanted blessings. Looking all around her the church was beautiful, sun burst through the stained glass windows twirling rays of rainbows against the icons. Nadezhda felt the heat of a candle close to her face and was startled to find that she held one in her hands. Her hair was pulled back in a bun with white roses and sprigs of baby's breath, the veil fell down her back. The simple off-white spaghetti strapped gown swayed around her lithe frame from the breeze floating from the open doors. The Starets took up the rings and it wasn't until she saw him grasp the plain gold man's band in his blunt fingers did Nadezhda turn to look at her intended._

_Who was he? He stood tall and proud in his tuxedo wearing a crown on his head holding a candle. She smiled and try as she might she couldn't see his face save for his indistinct profile. With the Starets' back turned Nadezhda reached out to her groom, but just as she touched his hand the whole room began to rumble and shake with an earthquake's force. The front and rear ends of the church collapsed with the charge of chain mail-wearing armies clashed chaotically around them. Heads rolled, limbs flew, and blood flowed like rivers, Nadezhda was amazed how she and her fiancée were unaffected by this mayhem. _

_When she at last opened her eyes, the world was still. She got to her feet and saw that she no longer was in the church, but outdoors and on a bridge of all places. Her lover had his back to her with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets still wearing his crown. Oddly enough she still had hers on. Bodies lay scattered like rose petals everywhere; she stepped over them mindful of the blood in the dirt. Nadezhda had the strangest notion that the battle was not over._

'_Please,' she begged her fiancée, 'what happened just now?' Before she could blink he lashed out and backhanded her, knocking the crown from her head. He reached up and dropped his crown to the ground. Nadezhda was too overwhelmed and distracted when she felt his next and final strike, in his right hand he expertly spun a sword and plunged it through her stomach. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, Nadezhda reclined her head back and saw her beloved's face. He smiled rather brightly and sincerely which made it all the more sadistic, blood spurted copiously from her mortal wound dyeing her white gown red mixing with the tears. As she fell to earth, he lovingly wound an arm round her back as he pushed the blade in deeper guiding her down in his arms._

'_Aren't you afraid?' He asked her. Nadezhda's mouth panted roughly as she tried to form a response, but her oxygen was getting cut off and her vision darkened. He smothered her mouth with his kiss so deep the spirit cry she let loose was loud enough to reverberate around the world._

_Back in her 12-year-old self, Nadezhda found herself short of breath and chest heaving, reeling from her first vision. Yevdokiya removed the crown from her granddaughter's hands and looked to the Starets who shook his head. The old woman looked relieved and stepped backward to where Varley stood watching intently. _

"_You are a very good girl, Nadya." The Starets clasped something around her neck. "A very good girl…" The lengthy oblong green crystal was flanked by little round silver baubles hanging from a black leather thong. The Starets told her the silver was warding charms and the green crystal was necessary for her to employ her abilities. Varley handed the priest a bottle of vodka and the three left. Nadezhda fell asleep in the backseat this time from utter exhaustion and Varley piggybacked her up to the apartment. Her grandmother tucked her into bed and opened the window to her tiny bedroom. Nadezhda heard the caws and shrieks of crows just outside as they circled the building. It was the last thing she saw before the blackout._

_When the power came back, Nadezhda was concerned about getting the picture back on the TV and her grandmother fussed about what was left un-puréed in the blender. Then the phone rang._

"_Hello?" Yevdokiya whipped the cordless off the charger and after a moment or so took the conversation into her bedroom. The remote useless in her small hands, Nadezhda sat at the end of the maroon leather sofa and waited silently. It wasn't until she heard the thud did Nadezhda run to her grandmother. _

"_Baba Dunya?" The girl approached her cautiously; the old woman not even acknowledging her granddaughter as she sat slumped on her knees before the shrine holding something to her breast. The phone was on its side on the carpet droning the dial tone. Nadezhda could see her grandmother's jaws working silently as she muttered prayers and what she embraced was her parents' wedding photo. Something was very wrong. The static on the TV cleared up and a news report was in progress, Nadezhda ran back into the living room._

_This just in, we have confirmed reports of a Moscow_ _bound Aeroflot flight 116 from Ottawa_ _has crashed 70 miles off the coast of Prince Edward Island. All 175 passengers including the flight crew have been killed. Flight 116 left Ottawa_ _International given the all clear for weather conditions when a storm over the Pacific literally whipped up out of the blue hurling the plane off course tearing it to pieces. It is the same storm believed to have swept through Moscow_ _traveling a great speed in a matter of hours._

_Nadezhda's mother, Nina Timofeyevna Domninova an engineer had been decapitated. Her father, Rodion Yevgeneyevich Lazarov an architect was sliced in half. It would be more than a week before the remnants of the fuselage and tail would wash up on the beach with a dozen or so bodies that included Nadezhda's parents. Due to the extensive decomposition, animals eating at the carcasses and water saturation the Canadian officials had no choice but to cremate any remains that were found. While the Orthodox Church doesn't sanction cremation their priest, Father Bogdan, presided over the funeral. The single black marble urn containing Nadezhda's parents' ashes were committed to the earth. _

_Yegor had been missing for two weeks then, Irina had never been the same after that night. A month went by and there was no word from or about Yegor, his mother was slowly turning into a ghost only leaving her apartment to go to work, until one day she too died. Nadezhda was sixteen when she and her grandmother attended the funeral. No cause could directly warrant her expiration, but Nadezhda knew it was from a broken heart. It was around then Nadezhda began searching through her parents' closet, her father's books in particular. She wasn't sure why, but it was an instinct she had that perhaps one of his books could explain her vision and the crystal that crazed monk gave her. Nadezhda never did it in front of her grandmother on account of her sensitivity, so she waited until she left for church or visiting one of her friends. Nadezhda ransacked the closet until she literally stumbled upon a cardboard box, yellowed and flaking from its shoddy quality and the ravages of time._

_Throwing apart the flaps, she hit paydirt and saw the double stack of antiquated hardcovers. Hastily arranging the closet the way it originally was, Nadezhda locked herself in her room. Sitting on the floor leaning against the foot of her bed, a soft lavender duvet spread across the twin bed, her dolls and toys lined against the wall on the floor and on her bookshelves. Gauzy curtains fluttered in the breeze, her window opened half way. The only book of interest was an old tome that spanned over her entire lap, Legend Bizantii- Legends of Byzantium. It stated that her green crystal would be able to revert certain shapeshifters back into human form, reverse lunacy in werewolves and can detect natural articles in the environment for magical purposes._

_Magical purposes? Lunacy? Yes it was loony, and before she was remanded to the state Nadezhda decided she learned enough. Feeling hungry and no longer lazy to cook dinner she was shuffling her way to the kitchen when the candles in her grandmother's shrine flared up as she passed her room. They did that sometimes, depending on her mood, she waved her hand in a slashing motion across the air and the flames whipped out. Once the TV burst into flames when she got angry. Her grandmother put out the fire with the little extinguisher that her father purchased since she was paranoid that the PC would explode. They never spoke of the incident again but it continued to worsen and eventually Nadezhda was forced to train herself to control the 'outbursts.' _

Medusa was a club on the Arbat, and one of Zavulon's business ventures aside from managing Alyssa's singing group and running her record label. It didn't open before 8 p.m. and only catered to the over 18 crowd so Yegor had little trouble gaining access to it 24 hours a day. But since this was daylight hours, he just strolled in through the front doors. The dance floor was being waxed and buffed, and their usual band's stage was deserted save for their instruments. Gold tinted mirrors lined the walls and there were gaudy chandeliers refracting prisms of rainbow if the light should strike the fine lead crystal baubles, then shatter like mist in a summer shower. Kostya ran out onto the second floor landing behind the white balustrade.

"Yegor! Up here!" Kostya called to him. The carpeting was a deep plum shade that rolled over the stairs Yegor jogged up.

"You're late," Alyssa announced. Yegor passed through the plum velvet curtains hanging over the archway to the manager's office where Polina sat behind the ebony metal desk clicking furiously at her PC.

"Polya, you said you had something?"

"Give it a sec." The 19-year-old Dark Other master cracker who liked to dress up in school girl uniforms, thigh-high fishnets and _Converse_ high tops accessed a minute window and typed in a password that unlocked a window to what was the index of Zavulon's paw prints on the web. "You bring your book right?" Yegor laid his copy of _Legends of Byzantium_ beside the keyboard. "Good," she spun the black flatscreen monitor in Yegor's direction for his analysis. "All I could trace was this."

"It's a messageboard." Alyssa said. Her legs were slung over a chair's armrest and she was applying a fresh coat of blood-red polish to her nails. Her brunette bob was slicked back with glitter and she was dressed in her streetwalker's best: leather pants, white boat-neck top, white stiletto heels and a lace choker.

"Very astute," Fedya commented text messaging his current flavor of the week. The messageboard was entitled, _Countdown to Judgment_.

"I checked the i.p. address to the poster called 'El Jefe' and confirmed it was from Zavulon's PC. Mostly he was playing mind games, trying to pick up girls-" Polina remembered Alyssa's presence, "sorry." The idol shrugged re-dipping the brush into the bottle. "But here's something he wrote a few days ago that struck a chord," Kostya, Fedya and Alyssa gathered around the screen with Yegor. "'The circle of light will herald the Darkness' ultimate nemesis.'" There was silence in the room and Yegor fingered through his mental rolodex. He took up the book and flipped through the gilt 700-odd pages locating the passage referring to 'the circle of light.'

"Found it."

"What does it say?" Kostya asked.

"'And the 40 Days to Judgment will begin with fire, blood and resurrection. On the ninth day, the circle of light will herald the Darkness' ultimate nemesis then on the fortieth day Darkness and Light shall clash.'" Yegor slowly lowered himself onto the white leather sofa and crossed he legs. Forty days, what was so significant about that? Moses' 40 days and nights on Mount Sinai? "Something interesting is going to happen that Father isn't letting us in on. Let's keep an eye out."

Liliya buzzed Nadezhda's apartment and awaited her friend until she emerged with her overnight bag. "Ready?"

Nadezhda shrugged. "As I'll ever be."

**TBC**


End file.
